


A Horseman's Nightmare

by daire



Category: Highlander - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-08-15
Updated: 2000-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-18 05:41:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11867889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daire/pseuds/daire
Summary: Note from Daire, the archivist: this story was originally archived atDaire's Fanfic Refuge. Deciding to give the stories a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onDaire's Fanfic Refuge's collection profile.





	A Horseman's Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Daire, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Daire's Fanfic Refuge](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Daire%27s_Fanfic_Refuge). Deciding to give the stories a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Daire's Fanfic Refuge's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/dairesfanficrefuge/profile).

A Horseman's Nightmare by Daire

A Horseman's Nightmare 

By Daire 

* * *

He couldn't be at the right address. It was nothing he expected another Watcher researcher could afford. This....this was a huge Victorian mansion. With lots of noise coming from inside. He double-checked the slip of paper with the address on it, then rechecked with the house and street number. It looked like the same address. Not that a researcher's handwriting was the best. 

_Just knock on the door and ask._ The worst that could happen was that he had the wrong address. He walked up and rang the doorbell. Thirty seconds and an ear-piercing scream later, a haggard looking woman answered the door, a child around two years of age balanced on her hip. 

She looked him over from head to toe, a suspicious look on her face. "Yeah?" 

"Uh, hi, I'm Adam Pier – " 

She brightened. "Oh, you must be the person the agency was going to send over! Am I glad you're here! I'm Gina Howland. As you can see, it's a bit hectic at the moment." 

"There must – " 

"There's a few more kids around today than usual, but I'm sure you'll do fine...." The woman continued, giving instructions, telling him where emergency phone numbers were, what the kids ate. She spoke constantly that he wasn't able to break in a single syllable. "Have you got all that? Great. I'll be back in a few hours." 

"But...." he was interrupted by the amazingly quiet twenty-month-old being thrust into his hands. Before he could get out another word, Ms. Howland was out the door. He stood there, the child held in front of him as if it were a football about to be kicked from his hands. The little boy stared at him, then popped a thumb into his mouth. Methos stared at the child. He couldn't even remember being in the company of children. Much less, himself being this small. What was he supposed to do with it? 

He couldn't leave them alone. Unfortunately. Children these days were much more dependent than they were even a hundred years ago. They had no sense of responsibility. If he left them to their own devices, the woman would probably come back to a destroyed house. 

"So what's your name?" The boy stared at him. Before he could have gotten an answer, five other little monsters ran into the hallway screeching and chasing each other. The sound was enough to start his ears bleeding and make him revert to his Horseman ways. "How do I get stuck into the middle of these things?" he muttered to himself. "Jenkins is going to pay for this." Another ear piercing shriek emanated from one of them, in the throes of childhood ecstasy. How did such a loud sound come from such small lungs? 

_"Silence!"_ His voice boomed in a commanding voice that would make Silas and Caspian halt their activities. The children stopped dead in their tracks and stared wide-eyed at the tall man before them. A few looked as though they were about to burst into tears. The forgotten child in his hands began to swing his legs back and forth. Methos was unsure if it was in play or fright. Looking at his face, it appeared he was the only one that thought the man's outburst was funny. A small, muffled giggle escaped past the thumb. "Think that's funny do you?" 

Another giggle. 

"Who're you?" asked one of the silenced demons. 

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." The kids looked at him, confused. "It seems I am your babysitter." His voice caught on the last word. If he had never known fear before, he definitely did now. He believed kids could smell fear, and would pounce on it without mercy. 

"You talk funny," said a blond-haired beastie. Methos ignored the statement, his attention drawn away by an awful stink. The four boys' noses crinkled in reaction. 

"Eeeww, Joey, did you fart again?" a black-haired fiend accused the blond boy. 

Joey obviously took offense to this, swinging an arm at his accuser and soundly thwacking him in the chest. 

"OW!" he cried before hitting back. Methos rolled his eyes heavenward. 

"Enough! Joey didn't fart, it's this little imp here." He cocked his head towards the reddish-haired child in his hands. There was an awfully contented look on Imp's face. Then Methos brought him closer and smelled, promptly moving the imp back again. "Whew!" In repulsion, Methos closed his eyes and breathed through his mouth for a couple breaths to get the stink out of his nostrils. "Now, you, what is your name?" His pointed gaze trained on the black fiend. 

"Billy." 

"Apologize to Joey for hitting him." 

"But – " 

"Now." Methos' tone brooked no argument. Reluctantly, the boy apologized. One crisis out of the way. He had no idea what to do with the offal in his hands. He tried to extend his arms farther, but they were out as far as they would go. "So, um, where are the diapers and stuff?" 

Beastie grabbed Methos' jeans and tugged to lead him to the bathroom and pointed, not wanting to go in with him. "In here." 

The boy was a regular font of information. Obviously, he wasn't going to help with the process. As Methos took care of Imp's mess, the other four demons huddled around the door watching him in curiosity and wonder. 

Trying to ease the awkwardness, Methos asked their names. That way he wouldn't have to refer to them as Imp, Beastie, Fiend, Ghoul, and Gremlin. He already knew Beastie's and Fiend's names. 

"I told you, I'm Billy," Fiend reminded him, a little exasperated. Then he pointed to Beastie. "And that's Joey." 

"Right, just wanted to make sure. And you two?" he asked the brown-haired twins, Ghoul and Gremlin. 

"Sean," said Ghoul. 

"George," said Gremlin. 

"And who might this one be?" He gestured to Imp. 

"Tha's Michael. 'E stinks a lot." 

"Wonderful." Hopefully Imp...er, Michael, wouldn't be stinking a lot while he was stuck here. 

"What's your name?" asked Ghoul. 

"Adam." That seemed to satisfy them. It wasn't long before the four older demons lost interest in their unwilling caregiver. The left and returned to their playing and screeching, virtually acting like little barbarians. Not much longer and there was a loud crash that sounded coincidentally like expensive china to Methos. He could hear hushed whispers coming from the direction of the demons. 

Methos quickly finished cleaning up Michael, the diaper haphazardly fastened but nonetheless snugly around the small body. 

In the other room, the four hooligans stood to attention facing Methos, standing shoulder to shoulder in front of something, as if to hide it. They each shifted uneasily under the scrutinizing gaze, not meeting Methos' glare. 

"What happened?" 

The boys each elbowed another to prod an answer. They all remained silent. 

"I asked what happened. If one of you doesn't volunteer an answer, I'll pick one." There were three false starts from various mouths, but no confession. Two looked like their eyes were about to spring a leak. Methos hoped they didn't, he liked crying children less than happy children. 

"Fine. You....Gr...George. What happened?" 

"Well, uh...." 

"Just spit it out." 

George looked at him, confused. "There's nothing in my mouth." 

Methos sighed. "Tell me." 

With his eyes on his toes, George finally confessed, mumbling. "We knocked the glass over." 

"Uh-huh, I see that. How did it happen?" 

"We were running around the room." 

"Whose fault was it?" All four little devils remained tight-lipped on that subject, not wanting to incriminate a friend. None of them raised their eyes from the floor. "I see. Then you'll all be punished the same way. Each of you find an empty corner and sit down." Slowly, they made their ways. Thankfully, without incident or argument. He'd been here all of fifteen minutes and he was ready to tear his hair out. 

As he watched the boys find their seats, he heard a tumble and thud come from the bathroom. "What now?" The question was no sooner out of his mouth than he heard the whimpering beginnings of a full out wail. Methos rushed to the bathroom. How could he forget and leave Imp alone? He was 5,000 years old, couldn't he remember one little bit of common sense? 

By time he reached Michael, he was wailing like a banshee, face red and tears streaming. It looked like he only fell from the changing table. Luckily there was a fluffy bathmat that cushioned his fall. Picking up the boy, Methos used his past medical training to use and checked the boy over for injuries. He might have a bruise or two, but nothing was broken or bleeding. Thank the gods. Last thing he wanted to add to his list of things he'd done was child abuse. 

He tried to soothe the boy. When he finally quieted down, Gremlin had gathered enough gumption to ask when they would get lunch. 

"At lunchtime," he answered gruffly. 

"Then can I have a snack? I'm hungry." 

"No. Go back to your corner." 

"But – " The glare he received stopped him mid-complaint. Sourly, he went back to his corner, mumbling. 

"I'm going to give Michael his lunch. I don't want to hear a peep out of any of you. When I've gotten him fed and down for a nap, I'll see to your lunches. Understood?" All four heads bobbed in acknowledgment. 

As soon as he was in the kitchen, Methos swore he heard one of the devils "Peep." Just what did a twenty-month-old eat anyway? He looked for jars of baby food, but finding none, settled Imp with a bowl of Cheerios. By time he was done eating, it looked like Methos and the kitchen had been hit with more cereal than made it to Imp's belly. 

Methos gave the child a pointed look, and tried to be stern. "You're supposed to eat the Cheerios, not aim them." All he got in response was a sly grin and a giggle. He lifted Imp out of the chair and carried him under one arm. "Time for a nap." 

Settling Michael, Methos stood in the middle of the living room, surveying the four heathens in their respective corners and sighed. He'd take care of their lunch as soon as he cleaned up the broken china vase. Thankfully, it didn't look too expensive. "Da...ng it!" he cursed as a shard of china sliced a finger. Quickly, he let go of the shard and popped the finger in his mouth until it healed. 

When he was done, he heard self-entertaining noises coming from Imp in the other room. Not used to children, he went to investigate. Nothing out of the ordinary, the boy was in the crib babbling to himself. 

"I thought I put you in here to sleep." 

"Book." 

"You've got to be kidding. All right, I'll be back after I get the others their lunch before they turn on me." 

Is this what mortals had to put up with on a daily basis? He'd hardly done anything and was already tired. If he could get away with it and had the materials, he'd Velcro the ruffians to a wall or the floor. Would that border on child abuse? 

Finally, he got the other four settled with their lunch. Not like he had to do much, he opened the fridge and cupboard and let them have at it. Maybe that was a mistake. Jelly, peanut butter, mayonnaise, and various pieces of cold cuts and cheese littered the table and floor. Not to mention the same foodstuffs adorned the individual little hobgoblins. When Methos had his back turned, they started throwing potato chips, but he quickly thwarted the attacks before he ended up with more food on his clothes. Of course, being the children they were, as soon as he turned around again they restarted. 

Methos groaned. This day was making him glad he couldn't father children. Especially if there was a chance they could turn out like these monsters. What was that saying, "Children should be seen and not heard"? Evidently, the parents of these children hadn't heard the rule. To them, the louder the better. 

Finally, they finished eating. "I'm going to go look in on Michael. You four clean up this mess. And I don't want to hear any hullabaloo." 

"Huh?" asked Fiend. 

"No noise or fighting." 

"Oh." 

He found Michael still wide-eyed but quiet, much to his chagrin. He wasn't a storyteller. 

"Book!" 

"Yes, yes, I'm getting to that. Which one?" Imp pointed to an orange covered _Sweet Pickles_ book, _Ice Cream Dreams._ Methos picked it up and began reading. When he was finished, the kid still hadn't fallen asleep, but wasn't as wide-eyed. 

By the end of the third reading, he was finally asleep. "You're kind is hard to put to sleep." 

Time to check on the heathens' progress on the kitchen. Methos inwardly groaned, not looking forward to what other havoc they could have gotten themselves into in his absence. Walking into the kitchen, he was amazed to find out it was worse then when he left. Good gods, what had they done? 

Where it had been just fallen food and crumbs, it was now one soggy or sticky mess. "I'm in charge of the Four Children of the Apocalypse," he muttered to himself. Upon hearing his voice, if not catching the words, Lucifer's children looked up at him. Each face held a blank, innocent, questioning look as if there was nothing wrong with the picture. 

Not only was the kitchen a mess, the boys were too – even more than when he had left them, if that was possible. But they all had the same goo around their mouths and faces. With a closer look, it proved to be chocolate, marshmallow and graham cracker crumbs. Prime ingredients for S'mores. He loved S'mores, and they didn't think to offer him any? 

Of course not, they were supposed to be cleaning, not eating more. 

"What have you all got around your mouths?" 

"We made S'mores!" Ghoul informed him cheerfully. 

"You ate all the S'mores?" They all nodded. "I _liked_ S'mores." And now he couldn't have any because the little buggers ate them all. 

There was still the mess to clean up. Obviously, Methos couldn't trust them to do it. He would – _groan_ – have to do it himself. First, he would get them cleaned up and changed. That would be an adventure it and of itself. Half an hour later, he finally had them in some semblance of order. As he cleaned up the kitchen, he made sure all four urchins were in his view. He wasn't going to take any more chances before he got them down for a nap. And they would go down for a nap whether they liked it or not. 

"Time for a nap." All four faces looked at him like he'd just sprouted wings. Methos didn't wait for any exclamations of disappointment or disbelief. "Now." He pointed into the room where Michael was slumbering. "And be quiet, if you wake Michael, I'll duct tape your mouths shut." 

"We never – " 

Methos glared at Fiend. "Who's in charge here?" 

"You." 

"Right. Now, march." 

"It's September." 

"Into the room." 

"Why to we have to go to sleep?" 

"You sleep because I wish it." Surprisingly, the statement didn't get a reaction. He looked from the boys to the door of the room, making it clear that they were to go without further delay. Reluctantly, they did, and Methos followed to make sure they didn't wake Imp. 

"Why – " started Beastie in a whisper. 

"Ssh. Rest, grow stronger, play another day." He left it at that and went back out to the living room. 

The doorbell rang not five seconds after he closed the door to the room the boys were napping in. Methos hoped it was Ms. Howland returning so he could get out of this task. He opened the door to reveal a voluptuous curly-haired brunette with dark, mysterious eyes. As she was taken by surprise at the door opening so swiftly, Methos took the time to take in an appreciative view of the young woman. Too bad he wasn't willing to stick around. 

"I'm sorry I'm so late, my car broke down – again – and then my cell phone died – " 

"Are you the sitter from the agency?" 

"Yes, I'm Marianne – " 

"I am _so_ glad you're here....they're all yours." Before she could say another word, Methos had his coat and was out the door, swearing vengeance on Jenkins. 

_The End_

* * *

© 2000   
Please send comments to the author! 

08/15/2000 

* * *


End file.
